


Fog

by Snailiosis



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Assisted Suicide, Basically breekon dies the same way he does in canon, Canon-Typical The Lonely Content (The Magnus Archives), Canon-Typical suicidal ideation, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, canon compliantish? it’s never said that breekon /doesn’t/ start to be taken by the Lonely, not beta read we die like stranger entities breekon and hope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:15:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29660202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snailiosis/pseuds/Snailiosis
Summary: He thought about the words on his van. He thought about if he could truly be Breekon anymore, when Hope had been half of his definition. He thought about the coffin, and how it had been bound to them and not to him.AKA Breekon becomes Capital-L Lonely after the Unknowing
Relationships: Stranger Entity Breekon & Stranger Entity Hope (The Magnus Archives)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Fog

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Better Half](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26919670) by [arms_full_of_hyacinths](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arms_full_of_hyacinths/pseuds/arms_full_of_hyacinths). 



> Listen. The Magnus Archives is a tragedy and Breekon and Hope are one of the first examples of that.

He hadn’t noticed it at first. The Hunter tore into Hope, so Breekon fed her to the coffin, and the unnatural warmth of its wood let him ignore the sudden chill of being alone. But the coffin was no longer bound to him. Maybe it recognized that there was not enough to Breekon to _be_ bound to without Hope. And so he made a delivery.

He told the Detective to stay quiet, but he didn’t retaliate when she spoke anyway. It didn’t matter if she told The Archivist he was there. Killing him would be pointless without Hope there to share in the joy. The room was colder than it should’ve been, but it unnerved the Detective, so he thought it was okay.

“ _Are you here for revenge?_ ” Asked the Archivist, and Breekon tried to ignore the cold as he Answered.

“Yeah,” he said, “just like when we— when I— fed the copper to the pit.”

The Detective bristled, and Breekon’s smile felt like broken glass as he hoped that she felt the sharp hurt of loss as much as he did. He knew she didn’t. She could never understand the pain of losing half of herself.

“ _What pit_?”

Breekon rapped his knuckles twice against the warm wood. He told them that it had untied itself from him, and pretended he didn’t notice the way he paused halfway through each sentence, waiting for a familiar voice to finish them.

The Archivist tried to Ask for his true voice, but Breekon didn’t have one, so he slipped out from under the Question easily enough.

The Hunter had taken everything from him, and he is certain that she couldn’t have done a better job if she had been of the Desolation. He wanted to tell this to the Detective, wanted to throw her into the pit as well, wanted to make her hurt the same way he did. Instead, he told the Archivist that he had wanted to kill him.

When the Archivist Looked at him, Breekon ran. He had never been a being that was meant to be Known, so what else could he do? He ran, and he didn’t stop until he made it back to the off-white van marked _Breekon And Hope Deliveries_.

He drove around aimlessly. He watched the sky turn dark, then light, and the color of blood in between.

He didn’t make any more deliveries, after the coffin. It wasn’t right, without Hope there to laugh at the terror that filled the air. He could feel himself fading, but that was okay. He didn’t want to last in a world without Hope anyway.

Breekon drove. He thought about the words on his van. He thought about if he could truly be Breekon anymore, when Hope had been half of his definition. He thought about the coffin, and how it had been bound to _them_ and not to _him_.  
And Breekon drove.

When the fog began to creep around him, he didn’t fight it. The coffin had been right, he knew. He wasn’t enough on his own. And he was alone.

When the world Changed, he barely noticed. He saw the sky turn the color of blood, and he saw it stay that way, with no light or dark to replace it. He thought Hope would’ve laughed. But Hope wasn’t there and couldn’t laugh, so all that happened was the emptiness beside him ached all the more.

He was supposed to be a janitor, now. It was meaningless work, but everything had been meaningless for a long time, so it didn’t really matter. Nothing mattered. The mist that swirled around him hadn’t changed. Not that he’d expected it to. The only thing that had truly changed was that, now, he was being Watched.

The Forsaken had barely had to do anything. Even if he was immune to the clinging damp, he didn’t think things would be any different.

It hurt to be Known. It hurt more to be without Hope. So, when he came across a familiar man leaning against a wall, he considered his options, and decided to wait with him. He didn’t have to wait for long. The Archivist returned, and Breekon asked him to kill him before he could change his mind.

It hurt. The Archivist had told him it would. He wished Hope was there. He wished they could have ended together, the way they had started. He wished that Hope had been real enough for him to remember what he looked like. And then it didn’t hurt anymore. And then nothing hurt, and there was no empty space by his side and no unfinished sentences and no fog swirling at his feet.

And so Breekon and Hope Ended.


End file.
